The Gentle Sting
by sunshineditty
Summary: Too bad he's already taken. H/C Derek and Stiles.


Rosie restrained herself from screaming at Derek, wanting nothing more than to smack him upside the head, but knew it wouldn't change his mind. In the twelve days she'd known him, she quickly realized he was an exceedingly stubborn man.

"Is there _anything_ you'll let me do?"

He lifted pallid eyelids to reveal tired hazel-blue-green eyes.

"Let me rest and this -" here he waved a hand over his bloodied self "-will heal."

"Is there anyone I can call?"

A considering look passed over his face. "You can't call from here; call from the diner."

"Who will I be talking to?"

"Doesn't matter. There might be an answer, and there might not be. Either way, the only thing you say is your name, what town we're in, and that you're looking for someone to help on Project Sourwolf."

"Are you kidding me? Project Sourwolf? Is this some play on words because of your lycanthropy?"

A small smile curved his pink lips and Rosie couldn't help her internal sigh at his prettiness. Whatever trouble the wolf had brought to her doorstep wasn't enough to overcome her appreciation for him and she knew that made her a shallow, shallow woman, but she could live with that. As long as _he_ lived, she amended, still not liking the sight of the black goo dripped down his chest from his earlier projectile vomiting. Whatever blue dust he made her ground into his bullet wound had seemingly helped as he was definitely better looking than two hours ago, but it still didn't completely ease her mind.

"Trust me, Rosie, it'll be fine. Soon enough this ordeal will be over and you can get back to your normal life."

"Humdrum life, you mean," she quietly corrected him, unable to resist walking to his side and swiping a few black strands from his forehead. He stilled at her touch, and Rosie was suddenly uncomfortable. She might not be supermodel gorgeous, but she'd never had any problems attracting romantic partners, yet since the moment she laid eyes on Derek, the wolf had ignored her or stared at her blankly.

"Get a piece of paper and write down the number you need to call. Will you do that for me?"

His voice was matter-of-fact and it helped ease her embarrassment at touching him uninvited.

"Yeah, yeah I will."

Four hours later, she cocked her rifle as a blue jeep roared up the steep hill to her cabin. She loved living on the outskirts of the tiny mountain town because it allowed her privacy as well as a life seemingly removed from civilization, but it did have its drawbacks. She really hoped this lithe stranger hopping out of the vehicle was someone who'd help rather than another hunter intent on harming her guest.

"Rosie?"

He was much younger than she'd expected from the gruff exchange over the phone, his questions direct and to the point, as no nonsense as the wolf lying on her couch; nineteen or twenty at most.

"Who's asking?"

"Leader of Project Sourwolf, ma'am."

"So you're Stiles then?"

"Where's Derek?"

Rosie uncocked her gun and cradled it in her arms. The past few days' had taken their toll on her, and she was suddenly glad there was someone else to unburden herself to.

"He's on the couch, shot up real bad."

Alarm twisted his pale features until the grimness erased any traces of youth from his face, and Rosie saw the hard uncompromising man hidden beneath.

"You didn't say he was hurt," Stiles moved across the space between them with a long-legged gait, and was up on her porch before she could speak again. "Derek if you're dying I swear to God, I'll bring you back just to kill you myself."

Derek appeared in the doorway, startling Rosie, but not Stiles as his body didn't twitch in surprise. Her daddy's shirt look two sizes too small stretched across his broad shoulders and tight around his thick biceps, and his jeans were little more than bloody shredded material since she had nothing even close to fitting him. Stiles' eyes swept over him in a quick once-over before he punched him hard in the chest. Rosie took a step forward, mouth firmed with anger intending to read him the riot act when Derek himself wrapped a hand around the Stiles' wrist.

"You came alone? How many times have I told you not to travel without a partner?"

"As if you have room to talk, Derek! You took off and left without letting anyone know where the hell you were going." His words were punctuated with another punch to the chest. "You had us fucking worried especially when Lydia did a seeking spell and it didn't work._ Lydia_'s spell."

Rosie didn't understand the peculiar emphasis he put on the girl's name. Was Lydia the reason why Derek turned from her and had gently rebuffed her advances?

"Stiles."

"Derek."

They were close in height, Stiles a bare inch taller, and so they stared into each others' eyes, communicating through eyebrow twitches and glares, a shared silent language she had no hope of deciphering even if she lived to a hundred. It was obviously one created through the press of years and situations she had no part of; it made a small part of her ache at once again being the odd man out which made no sense since she'd only known Derek a week and change.

"Thank you, Rosie, for taking care of the big lunkhead."

In her preoccupation, the men had shifted from their standoff on the porch, and stood near her, their shoulders brushing.

"Is it always like this?"

Stiles shoved a hand into longish dark brown hair and tugged lightly as he sought to answer her question. Rosie had always _known_ there was more out there than what could be explained, yet she'd never expected to actually brush up against it. Finding a half-feral wolf was one thing; learning he could change to man was quite another and discovering a whole 'nother _world_.

"Unfortunately in our experience, humans rarely get a nice safe introduction into our life. You're usually inducted in a very rough or fatal way."

Curious his use of _human_. "You're a werewolf too?"

Laughter hummed from both men, Derek's right side now fitted against Stiles' left like a puzzle piece slotting into its place. "I'm just the Boy Who Runs With Wolves."

There was an odd cadence to his words, as if he was using a title. "So you're, uh, human like me then?"

"He's Stiles."

Derek didn't add anything further as if that was an answer in itself, so she dropped it, especially since it wasn't really what she wanted to ask. The comfortable ease in which they stood, the way Derek's tension had dropped the moment Stiles appeared, it all added up to things that made a small ball of jealousy and envy curdle in the pit of Rosie's stomach. This must be what _pack_ was, as Derek had haltingly tried to explain to her. It hadn't made a lot of sense, but seeing him with Stiles now, the concept was becoming clear.

"Is there anything I can do to clean up before I take him home?"

"No, I'll just burn the towels used to mop up his blood, and there's nothing else really he disturbed."

"We are in your debt."

The words were familiar, cliché even, something Rosie heard people say a million times before, yet there was an echo of something _more_ in Stiles' tone, and the hairs on her neck stood up. She gingerly shook the hand he held out to her, and almost expected a shock of some sort when their flesh touched. It was somewhat disappointing when nothing happened and the moment faded.

Stiles released her hand and turned to Derek with a small smile. "We should get on the road since I didn't tell my dad where I was going and you know how he gets."

"Did you tell _anyone_ where you were going?"

"Don't even start this again. We will be having the lecture about the importance of the buddy system. I swear it's like everything I say goes in one ear and out another."

"It does," Derek smirked, even as he settled into the curve of Stiles' arm, leaning against him until his head brushed the younger man's throat. Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Thanks again, Rosie."

And with slightly less speed, Stiles roared off with Derek snuggled into the front passenger seat, leaving behind a unwittingly smitten and bemused mountain woman.

* * *

**A/N: Inspired by a scene from a movie I was watching. This is a strictly mindless drabble intended to help jump-start my brain into finishing at least one chapter for one of my 3 WIPS.**


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